


Every Time I Blink

by djshiva



Series: Every Time I Blink [1]
Category: Rizzoli & Isles
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-20
Updated: 2010-09-20
Packaged: 2018-01-03 06:57:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/djshiva/pseuds/djshiva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabble based at the end of Season One.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Time I Blink

_I'm sorry, Maura._

The pain spreading in waves from my gut is staggering, and I'm pretty sure I'm bleeding all over the sidewalk. The only thing that makes any of this any better is that bastard has to be bleeding just as much...hopefully more. 

I try to open my eyes, to crane my head around to make sure. It just hurts more, so I let myself drift again.

It's pretty fucked up that I'm laying here like this...can't see a damn thing, and all I can think of is her hand on my back. That bastard was coming toward us with a gun, and right before he grabbed me...one small spot of warmth on my shoulder, like a patch of sun on a winter day...one last beautiful thing before...

_...don't even think it, Rizzoli..._

Before this. Whatever this is. It's foggy. And it hurts. I can barely make out the sound of sirens, and I hope like hell that there's an ambulance wherever Frankie is. Ma will throw a shit fit if she loses two kids today. 

_Damn, we both have a good excuse for gettin' out of that party though, huh?_  

I can hear shouting and people running and and it all sounds so far away and I'm tired and cold and I just want to sleep. I just want to sleep and then I hear that voice... 

"Jane! Oh God, Jane! Please be OK, please be OK..."

_Dammit, you sound so terrified. I didn't mean to do that to you. I just wanted to make sure you and Frankie were safe, Maura. Don't be upset...and please don't hate me._  

The last thing I feel before the blackness closes in is a gentle hand on my back. That same spot from before. I know it's your hand and that's when I know you're really safe. I realize you probably know the exact scientific name of that spot on my back, and suddenly I regret never telling you how charming it really is when you go all Wikipedia on me.

And then I hear your voice. It's tense, and it's distant, like a bad phone connection, listing off internal organs that I probably  _didn't_  hit with the bullet. 

I feel my face twist into something resembling a smile before I just let go.

 


End file.
